The Sisters of the Crescent Empress

Chapter 6: Alina

Celestia knocks the paneled wall with her knuckles as she always does at the end of the dance practice. Rafa and Mufu trot to her, convinced this must mean treats for them, though I don’t think she’s ever given them any. She shakes her head at them, says to us, “My sisters, this suffices for today.”

“Good.” Olesia wipes her ghostly forehead. Her kind doesn’t sweat, but it’s as if she hasn’t realized this, and I don’t really want to remind her that she’s actually dead. “She failed to stay in rhythm once more.”

What a mean comment to make! I didn’t notice anything off with the rhythm, but I must admit, I wasn’t following the steps either. Maybe I missed a thing or two as I swirled round and round with Merile and her pretty companions.

“What did you expect?” Irina links arms with her sister and leads her toward the window. They can’t leave the house, but I’m quite sure they dream of doing so just like we do. “You can’t trust the eldest sister.”

Merile and I exchange looks. I keep many things secret from my sisters, but two I share with her. At some point, we might tell our sisters about both the ghosts and the witch. But not yet, I think.

“Shall we let in fresh air?” Celestia asks. Sibilia glares at her as if the question had somehow hurt her. When Celestia says nothing in reply, our sister stomps to the fireplace, unraveled red-gold locks swaying with her steps.

Merile nods at me. Something is definitely going on, but she doesn’t know what it is either, and neither do the ghosts. It started a bit over a week ago with Sibilia being very upset with Celestia. They won’t talk about it, not even when we’re not in the room. The ghosts say that keeping secrets like that is very typical of older sisters.

Celestia strolls to the window, her steps so fine that she might as well be still dancing. She unlatches it, closes her eyes, and breathes deep. Usually she remains silent, but this time around, she says very softly under her breath, “At last.”

Irina’s thin gray brows arch. “She has a plan.”

“Younger sisters, beware.” Olesia drifts to stand right behind our oldest sister, who doesn’t notice her at all. I don’t like the ghost speaking of Celestia like that even if she does keep quite a few secrets from us. Maybe Merile is right. Maybe the ghosts have their own ghostly agendas. Maybe we should reconsider telling Sibilia, Elise, and Celestia about them.

Then again, Irina and Olesia say that only people who want to see ghosts will see them, and hence if we were to tell our older sisters about the ghosts, they simply wouldn’t believe us. I really don’t want to tell our sisters anything that might make them even more concerned about me—my meals might start to taste funny again!

When Celestia leaves to help Elise with the furniture, Merile and I and Rafa and Mufu rush to the window. I look out for the magpie, and Merile does likewise. We lean against the sill, squinting at the sun. Our shadows fall against the house, unable to reach the porch’s tin roof below. They shift back and forth as the cool breeze tousles our hair.

“Spring,” Merile mutters, no doubt upset because the magpie didn’t come and watch us dancing. “It still doesn’t feel like spring.”

Irina leans out from between us. “The day is not as it should be.”

I wonder if the magpie felt it, too. Though it’s five weeks since the equinox, the garden remains murky, the paths muddy, and the grass wet and brown. Only a few shy coltsfoots bloom amidst the muck. The days are now twice the length of the nights, but last night was the first that Merile and I didn’t shiver and quiver under the blankets with Rafa and Mufu. I have to ask, “But summer will come before too long, won’t it?”

Irina and Olesia share a somehow very sad look. They don’t know that come summer all will be well at last, and once more I’m dying to tell them about the witch. She promised to help me and Merile flee, and though we haven’t seen her since, we’ve glimpsed the magpie almost every day. Once we do see her again, once she shares her plan with us, we can finally tell our older sisters and maybe even the ghosts about her without fear of being ridiculed! Hopefully that’s going to happen soon!

“The days will grow longer until midsummer,” Olesia says, brushing her plump fingers against the window’s frame.

I glance over my shoulder at our older sisters. Celestia and Elise are pushing the chairs and tables back to their usual places. Sibilia broods by the fireplace, the book of scriptures on her lap. They’re not paying attention to us. It’s safe for me to speak with the ghosts. “That would mean less time for darkness, wouldn’t it?”

Though we’ve lived in this house for months now, I keep on seeing the same nightmare. I’m hoping that once the nights turn light, my dreams will do likewise. I really don’t want to be reminded of the gagargi and his machine every time I close my eyes. If it weren’t for Rafa curled at my feet and Merile snoring beside me, I wouldn’t dare to sleep at all.

“Yes,” Irina replies. “Midsummer marks the end of night. During the nightless days, our father…”

“Wait.” Merile suddenly leans farther against the sill, so far out that her feet no longer touch the floor. She kicks for balance, loses a sabot. Rafa and Mufu jump after her, nip her hem, and hang on to it.

“Merile,” I shriek. She can’t fall! She can’t! She’s my favorite sister, and I wouldn’t know what to do without her! “Help!”

One moment the ghosts are there, puzzled, even shocked. The next they’re gone as if they’d never been present in the drawing room at all. But Merile still teeters on the window’s edge, half in, half out.

“Oh dear, Merile…” Celestia glides to us. There’s no haste in her steps, and yet I’m sure that if Merile were to slip any farther, Celestia could still catch her in time. “I do advise for a certain degree of caution when high places are concerned.”

She grabs the back of Merile’s dress and swiftly pulls her back in. I bite my lips together. It’s a pity the ghosts disappeared like that, that they didn’t see Celestia coming to Merile’s aid. Our older sisters really aren’t as unreliable as they think. They don’t know our sisters like Merile and I do!

“Magpie.” Merile tosses her gorgeous black hair over her left shoulder as if she hadn’t just been in danger and then been properly chastised. “I thought I glimpsed the magpie, but it was just some other bird.”

“Now did you?” Celestia gazes into the garden as if she already knew why we’re so interested in the bird. But she can’t know. Really, she can’t.

“Shall we close the window?” Celestia asks, already reaching out for the handle. “It is still a bit on the chilly side outside.”

“Fine.” Merile tilts her chin and scoops Mufu up, into her arms. She shuffles to reclaim her sabot. “But since you’re older and know everything, why didn’t the magpie come and watch our practice today?”

Celestia secures the window with a latch. She stares out for a moment, looking very thoughtful. “A bird has all the sky as its playground. As long as a soul rests behind its eyes, it is free to come and go as it pleases.”

“Poetic.” Merile gives Mufu a wet kiss right in the middle of her black forehead. “How very poetic.”

“Oh, Merile.” Celestia laughs and pats our sister’s hair. I happen to look at their shadows. Celestia’s is very tall and her arms feathery. Merile’s shadow retreats from her, faster than she could possibly shy away from our sister. What I see in the shadows is something I don’t tell even to Merile. “How about we play a game, then?”

“A game,” I squeal in excitement, and forget all about the shadows. Though Elise and Sibilia sometimes play with us, Celestia never joins us. Though the ghosts keep me and Merile company, they say they’re too old for idle amusements. “What sort of game?”

“It is called the Silent Path.” Celestia places one palm on my shoulder, the other on Merile’s. She leads us past Elise, who, ready with the furniture, has moved to braid Sibilia’s hair. Somehow it always comes loose when we dance. Maybe that’s what’s been making her so gloomy lately.

“I’ve never heard of it before! Is it as much fun as Catch the Goose? Is it played outside? Say it’s not! It’s still so muddy there!”

“Gah,” Merile mutters, less interested. She presses Mufu tighter against her chest. Her beautiful companion treads the air, tongue sticking out of her mouth. “We’re tired. Yes! So very tired!”

My feet are a little sore from dancing, too. I’d rather dance barefooted than wear my sabots, but my sisters won’t hear of that. And I won’t hear more protests from Merile—if we ponder our answer for too long, Celestia might change her mind and we might miss this treat for good!

“Come now, Merile!” I pat my knees to summon Rafa. For if she joins the game, then Mufu will want to play too, and then Merile can’t say no.

“Yes, go,” Elise says, the words clipped. I don’t know if she meant for us to hear her or if she forgot that she’s no longer whispering with Sibilia. Either way, she looks very interested in the rules of this game we’ve never played before. I’m not sure if Sibilia’s hair would be better off without her.

“Fine.” Merile follows us slowly and sluggishly, as if she’d turned into a snail. Wouldn’t she look funny then! Though I really hope that Papa doesn’t turn her into one. Nurse Nookes once said that a girl who doesn’t behave herself might one morning wake up changed to another creature. “But it had better be fun.”

Celestia stares at Merile, her gaze as blue as the summer seas, calm now, but reminding us both that a wise girl doesn’t try the temper of the empress-to-be. “That, we shall find out together, shall we not?”

And that’s exactly what we do. The game starts from the room I share with Merile. Celestia presses the door closed behind us. She leans down to whisper to us, “Now, my dear little sisters, open the door as silently as you can.”

I reach out for the handle, but Merile is faster than me. We’ve opened this door a hundred times at least—no, I need a bigger number than that—but now I want to do it more than anything else in this world. For who knows what awaits us outside?

It turns out, nothing out of the ordinary. That is, if you don’t count Elise and Sibilia staring at us. They’re whispering once more. I don’t know what possible gossip they can have left, but it might be about Celestia. Lately, Sibilia and Celestia have barely greeted each other. The ghosts say that Celestia has been sleeping curled in the armchair, though why she would do that when their bed is wide enough for two, I really can’t even begin to guess.

“Now, memorize this path,” Celestia says, and then she drifts across the room; not the straightest path, but one that takes her first to the oval table, then right toward the mirror on the paneled wall and along that way to the side table with the dented samovar, then a step left and straight until she reaches the door that leads to the hallway and stairs beyond. She halts there and turns to look back at us. “Do you remember it?”

“Boring.” Merile pouts her lips and squats down to pet both Rafa and Mufu. Her companions offer their paws to her. She grasps their delicate feet in turns. “This is a boring game. Isn’t it, my dear darling companions?”

I like boring. So many strange things have happened in this house that I think I’ve just about had enough of it. When I keep my eyes open, I see both shadows and ghosts. And though Irina and Olesia are very nice old ladies, I’d like to see them only in reflections like Merile does, because seeing them whenever they’re near us feels wrong in a way I don’t know how to explain.

“This is just the beginning.” Celestia smiles, a sight so rare I have to pinch my arm. I’m wide awake. I pinch a little harder, just to be sure. “Now, close your eyes.”

Merile hugs Mufu. Of course I need to do likewise to Rafa. Merile nods approvingly at me. There’s nothing better than cuddles! “What if I don’t?”

“Then you lose,” Celestia replies.

Merile closes her eyes right at that moment. I follow her example, though whenever I close my eyes, I risk losing myself in a dream. In this house, my dreams are sharper than on the train. I often run, and it’s always away from this house. Sometimes I descend narrow stairs, into an unlit cave that smells of mold and old onions. I wander down a low corridor, until I come to a wall of stone. When I run my fingers across its length, I find scattered holes, and for some reason, this makes me very sad.

Though both of these dreams are better than the nightmares I keep on having about the gagargi.

“Follow me,” Celestia says.

I hear Merile’s hem swish and sabots clack as she hurries toward Celestia’s voice. I tiptoe after her. All the planks in this house make a different sound, but now I mustn’t make any. I’m lucky that I’m light and know how to move quietly. Merile…

My sister steps on a plank that shrieks like a goat stuck between two fence posts. Not that I’ve ever seen or heard a goat do such.

“You lost,” Celestia says.

I open my eyes, just in time to see Merile sniff and stick her tongue out at Celestia. She got only as far as the mirror. I think I could have made it the whole way.

We start again maybe a thousand times. That is, I’m not sure. I don’t know how much that really is. But it’s not easy to remember the way Celestia goes, even after she shows it to us many, many times, for we must step on the exact same spots as she did or the planks will betray us. Sibilia and Elise watch us from their sofa chair before the fireplace. They’re done with their gossip and braiding and first cup of tea.

“May we join as well?” Sibilia’s tone is pointed as Merile’s sometimes is when she wants to prove that she’s right. Though most often she’s not. My sister’s face is pale, the thick, blue circles around her eyes like bruises, and when she continues, her voice wavers. “Or is the Silent Path only for the youngest daughters?”

“Please do.” Celestia reaches her hands out for them, a gesture to join her on the dance floor. “Sibilia, dear, please start from our room. Elise, you from yours.”

Sibilia gets up from amidst the cushions almost hesitantly, as if she wanted nothing more than to play with us, but was sure the invitation would be called off at any moment. As if that had happened to her again and again in the past, though of course nothing like that can have possibly come to pass!

At first it’s fun, playing with all my sisters. We compare the sounds the different planks make. Some purr like happy cats, some grunt like old men. There are planks that are angry for no longer being trees, some so old that they’ve forgotten where they came from. Though this I don’t tell to my sisters. Neither do I tell them that their shadows act out of order. Elise’s sways as if the lamps were lit and swinging, though they’re neither. Sibilia’s is pierced by tiny holes.

“Fun,” Merile says as she finally reaches the pale blue door without making a sound. I managed to do so way before her, as did Elise. “This was not as fun as you promised.”

Celestia stares past her at Elise and Sibilia. There’s something in that look, a word of advice left unsaid. Elise nods back at her. Sibilia looks somehow hurt. Did she accidentally walk into the furniture at some point? “I don’t recall promising fun.”

Merile sulks off back to the sofa by the window. Rafa and Mufu remain with me. I don’t know if I should follow Merile with her companions or stay with Celestia. It doesn’t matter, for it’s then that Irina and Olesia reappear. They slip into the room through the mirror on the wall.

“The door is ajar,” Olesia whispers.

“But it is the front door,” Irina adds. “Someone is coming. He doesn’t wear red gloves.”

Rafa and Mufu race down the flight of stairs so fast that Merile and I can barely keep up with them. A whole forest of creaks follows us, sounds high and low and all the hushed tones in between, too. If it weren’t for my excitement, I would run back up and then down, just to hear them again. But now we’re already at the hall. And…

“The front door is open,” I gasp as much to Merile as to the ghosts. It’s only then that we realize to check for the guards. The door of the library is closed, thanks Papa! The guards must not know that we’re about to be rescued at last!

Though I hear our older sisters descending the stairs behind us, I rush to the front door. Rafa and Mufu beat me to it. Merile is just a step behind, the hand mirror lifted before her. We push the door fully open together, only to stagger to a halt on the wide stone steps beyond.

The spring day is so bright that I must blink again and again to see what awaits us. We’re not alone. Rafa and Mufu bark and bounce next to Boy, who stands at the front yard, a hand raised to shield his eyes. He cranes into the distance, down the hillside of brown grass dotted with tiny yellow flowers, toward the forest where the birches are still too shy to show their new leaves.

“Well?” Merile turns around slowly, to catch the ghosts’ reply. They can’t leave the house, but they aren’t often wrong.

“There,” Irina replies, backing away from the daylight as if it hurt her.

“I can’t…” Olesia trails off, and with that, both ghosts fade away.

I’d call them back, I would, but just then, the most beautiful black horse I’ve ever seen bursts out from between the trees. Its long mane flutters in the wind, and the oiled hooves glint in the sunlight. The rider stands on the golden stirrups, dressed in the reddest of red coats. His white grin is wide, and his skin is akin to Merile’s. No, darker. The rider is…

“The Poet,” Merile chimes, and runs to the yard, past Boy, who’s spotted the rider too, and is struggling with his rifle’s strap to unloop it from around his shoulder. “Don’t shoot! It’s my seed!”

I hurry after my sister as the Poet gallops the long, even stretch of the road, past the fields like starry skies. I bless his name! At last, Papa has sent someone to our rescue! I can’t wait to see my sisters’ expressions!

But then another rider emerges from between the bare trees, one on a leaner, meaner pony. His leather coat flaps hurting-sharply against his sides. Great, gray-black dogs leap barking behind him. This second rider…

“Get back inside!”

I swirl around just in time to see Captain Janlav and Belly and Beard striding down the stone steps. They look startled and… even furious to find me and Merile in the yard. Our older sisters, they didn’t follow us out! I know it then, I’m definitely somewhere where I shouldn’t be, but also that I can’t leave even if I should.

“Will you get them inside now,” Captain Janlav snaps at Boy as he leads Belly and Beard past us, to the closed gate. He’s angry, but also excited, as if something he’d awaited for a long time were finally about to come true.

Boy flounders to me and Merile, but we repeatedly ignore him pointing toward the house. Then Belly and Beard are already leaning their elbows against the gate, rifles unslung, aimed toward the riders. As the Poet reaches the slope, he glances over his shoulder, at the rider behind him, and he’s so close now that I recognize him.

“It’s Captain Ansalov,” I whisper.

Boy stops waving. His mouth gapes, but no words come out. This is no rescue. This is something else, and it feels as if the very ground were giving in under my sabots.

“Drat,” Merile curses as the Poet digs his spurs against his horse’s sides. His grin widens as he leans forward. He buries his head against the fluttering black mane. The horse speeds up, hooves scattering gravel. “They’re racing.”

“Lower the rifles!” Captain Janlav orders. He must have realized the same thing. “And move aside, unless you want to get trampled.”

He has just enough time to swing the gate open and dodge aside before the Poet canters to the yard, past the dazzled Boy and Merile’s companions. He draws his horse to a halt so sharp that it ends up sitting on its hind legs. He pats the horse on its foaming neck and then swings down from the saddle. “My sweet, little Merile!”

Merile dashes to her seed, even as Captain Ansalov enters the yard at a trot, his hunting dogs leaping behind him. I don’t dare to look at him, and so I run after Merile. Rafa and Mufu follow me, barking over their shoulders. I’m happy that they have my back.

The Poet’s oiled hair is twisted into a dozen braids with silver crescents tangling at the ends. He wears a fine red coat with golden epaulets that toss and turn as he lifts Merile up in the air. His black, soft trousers are tucked into shiny boots. He doesn’t wear any gloves. The ghosts were right about that, at least. But there’s still more questions than there are answers.

“I do apologize for taking so long to find you.” The Poet swings Merile around. My sister laughs, her head bent back, her black curls bobbing. Rafa and Mufu yap around them, running small circles. I stand there, hands tucked into my dress’s pockets. I don’t know what to do. I’m confused and excited and a bit afraid, if it’s possible to be all of that at the same time. “No doubt my visit is long overdue!”

“Captain Janlav.” Captain Ansalov’s call is more like a jeer. His hounds sniff the air and growl, maybe at me. I shuffle closer to the Poet’s magnificent horse. Its tack is splattered with mud and the leopard skin under the saddle is soaked through. “It seems like these days your prisoners run around rather freely.”

It’s the first time someone calls us that, but it might just be the truth. For Captain Janlav grits his teeth, glances at me and Merile, as if thinking what he can say when we’re within earshot. But before he can make up his mind, Merile’s seed lowers her. He hooks his thumbs on his wide belt and speaks in a loud, booming voice. “And are we not all prisoners of our body, minds knotted inside skin and bone shell? Do we not deserve to run when we can, before the empress rings the last bell? Those young of age, those unconcerned, let them remain that way. For rather sooner than later, I’m sure of it, darker will be the day.”

Everyone, including the two captains, turns to stare at the Poet. Merile beams at her seed’s words, though I bet that she didn’t understand either what they were about. Captain Ansalov’s frown turns smug. I realize he likes this sort of thing, operas and poetry.

“Captain Ansalov! We meet again.” Captain Janlav strides to Captain Ansalov, Belly and Beard in tow. Their rifles are strapped against their backs once more, though their elbows bear wet stains from aiming the guns earlier. “What brings you here on a fine day like this!”

“Come, Bopol!” The Poet reaches out for the reins and pats his horse on its sweaty neck. He grimaces and wipes his hand clean on his trousers. “Daughters, let us walk. For soon, I think, adults must talk.”

Adults… Celestia must be disappointed and upset with me and Merile slipping out on our own. Maybe we should return inside.

But Merile couldn’t seem less concerned about that. She slips her arm around the Poet’s, and though she reaches only up to his chest, her smile is like the rising sun. It dimples her cheeks, and her teeth flash white. Seeing her so happy is almost enough to make me forget the awful Captain Ansalov and his hounds and everything else that’s broken or wrong in this world. Almost. For the captain’s shadow is very dark, and it almost seems as if… as if it were reaching out toward us.

I hurry to keep up with my older sister and her seed. I’ll tell Celestia this outing was Merile’s idea.

Poet’s horse—Bopol, and that’s a fine name for a fine horse—follows us like a tame giant, neck arched and ears bent forward. I bet he’s as gentle as a lapdog. Though unlike some lapdogs, like Rafa and Mufu, he doesn’t bounce after his master but walks majestically. I wait for either the Poet or Merile to speak, but neither does, not until we reach the wooden rail before the stables.

As Bopol extends his teeth to gnaw at the rail, the Poet reaches out for the saddlebags and unclips the closest one. He rummages through the content. Merile’s big brown eyes sparkle. “Did you bring me something? Did you?”

I’m getting curious, too. Or I want to get curious. I only glance at the two captains, who talk in voices so low they don’t carry this far. But there, beyond the gates, I see more soldiers arriving, some of them riding ponies, others sitting on a horse-drawn cart. There’s one, two, three… five of them, I think.

“Indeed I brought you a fitting present.” The Poet pulls out from the bag a red silk scarf. He flourishes it before Merile so that the sun shines through it and I can see the shape of his face, now colored red, behind it. “The very thing is Moon-sent!”

“White.” Merile’s forehead wrinkles. She taps her sabot against the gravel. “But it’s not white!”

“Ah yes, it’s not the color of snow, that is something we should know. But wear it about your person at all times, and there might come a day that you’ll be all smiles.”

Merile gingerly accepts the scarf. She must be as puzzled as I am. Why would her seed give a Daughter of the Moon something we’re not supposed to wear! Though, since we left the Summer Palace, we’ve worn the gray blankets that Elise turned into coats quite a few times. Celestia says Papa doesn’t mind that, as otherwise we would have frozen or at least gotten sick during the winter.

“I also brought chocolates with me, but I confess that I couldn’t resist the temptation. While I was crossing the nation, I did sample a few. But worry not, my sweet Merile, I know the selection varies. With great care I picked only the bitter ones, leaving you the ones filled with berries.”

Merile accepts also the chocolate box that, having traveled through the empire, is rather dented. “Alina, hold this, will you?”

And so I become the guardian of the treat that Sibilia has been longing for for months. Maybe she’ll finally cheer up.

“Poet…” Merile pulls him with her toward the flowerbed flanking the stone steps. I quickly peek inside, through the open doorway. Boots and Tabard guard the main stairs. Celestia argues with them, Elise and Sibilia behind her on the higher steps. I turn my gaze aside before they notice me noticing them. They’ll be so mad at us! “I want to show you something Elise taught me.”

“But of course,” the Poet says, and then he calls over his shoulder at Bopol. “You may rest now, my steed. You kept up a decent speed.”

Merile snaps the longest coltsfoots from the flowerbed that no one has tended in a while. I’d help her, but I can’t, not without lowering the box of chocolates. Rafa and Mufu settle behind us. They’ll watch over the two captains and the hounds and let us know if anything of importance happens in the yard.

“Crown. I learned how to braid a crown! And as you’re a prince, I want to make you one!” Merile beams at the Poet as she struggles to weave the stems together. “Short. These are a bit short. Elise says it’ll be easier to braid from dandelions…”

“Ah, dandelions,” the Poet sighs. And now that I look at him closer, he looks very tired. When Merile concentrates on the weaving, his smile tightens. His clothes, though sewn of velvet and silk, are stained and wrinkled. He also stinks quite a bit. “Yours is not the glory of the first summer days. Yours is the whiteness that disperses in the wind. There is nothing a single man can change, no matter how he prays. Sometimes, in the end, ignorance is more kind.”

The way he speaks… So sadly, as if he’d lost something he much liked. Though it might be that I’m just imagining this, for as Merile braids the crown, his smile broadens.

Rafa growls. Mufu barks. I turn around to see the soldiers on their ponies and the cart enter the yard. The day fills with their harsh laughter and… clucking. Yes, there, on the cart, is a cage that holds speckled brown chickens and a redheaded rooster. And behind the cart, with a rope around its neck, oinks a real pink and black pig!

“Look!” I point at the chickens and then at the pig and then again at the chickens. Now I know what sort of sounds they really make!

The Poet bends down on one knee before Merile. “Do not look. Do not look back. Do not think of what you may now lack. Keep those you love hidden, deep in your chest. Cherish that which you love the best.”

She embraces him, the unfinished coltsfoot crown swaying in one hand. I want to embrace this dejected man, too. He can no longer hide it. But he’s my sister’s seed, not mine. My seed is far, far away. I don’t know exactly where.

“Poet Granizol.” Captain Ansalov’s voice cuts through the day like a dull knife. When we turn toward him, he smiles at us. If I’d never met Gagargi Prataslav, I would call it the most terrible smile I’ve ever seen. Captain Ansalov’s cheer, with the wind tugging at his curly hair, flapping his dirty coattails, ranks only second compared to that. “Join us inside.”

“It seems that I must go.” The Poet squeezes Merile’s shoulders. He presses a kiss on her forehead. “Please let me depart with the deepest bow.”

He gets up and does just so, flourishing his left arm, the sleeve so very red. As he turns to leave, Merile reaches out for his hand. “Talk. We will talk again, won’t we?”

Maybe he didn’t hear her. Or maybe he did but doesn’t dare to answer. He gently shakes himself free, and as he strides to the two waiting captains, I can only guess.

“I’d be very curious to know what they’re talking about,” Sibilia says once we’re back in the drawing room, her tone more bitter than any potion Nurse Nookes ever tricked me into swallowing. My sister paces to the arching window closest to her room and glances out. Though, no matter how many times she’ll do so, she will see only the garden and the lake. None of the windows on this floor open to the front yard.

“Yes, what could they possibly discuss in the absence of their younger sisters,” Olesia agrees, though Sibilia can’t hear her.

Rafa scratches the door leading to the hallway beyond. I press my ear more firmly against the panel, but I can’t hear a thing. In the drawing room, the ghosts sit on the white sofa nearest to the windows, a spot from which they can easily watch everyone in the room. But as Merile can see the ghosts only through a reflection, she stands before the tall mirror and stares fixedly beyond the gleaming surface. Mufu leans against her legs, ears pressed back. She’s still shy about the ghosts.

“Adult things,” I reply to both my sisters and the ghosts as I straighten up. I’m pretty sure that no one stands guard on the other side, but I’ll stay by the door and check again in a few moments.

Celestia and Elise want to protect us from the gagargi. Though me and my sisters have gone through quite a lot since we left the Summer City, the revolution Elise has mentioned quite a few times must have affected other people, too. Merile says she saw burning houses on our way here. I don’t dare to think what else might have happened. Yet I sense that many shadows have been lost, their bearers fallen limp in snow or mud.

“That man, Captain Ansalov, I do not like seeing him here.” Irina clenches the top of her closed fist against her mouth.

“He is very dangerous.” Olesia drifts from the sofa to Merile, to stand behind her—no, to lean over her shoulder. Mufu backs away from my sister. “Listen, little one, listen closely. Do not ever follow Captain Ansalov into the cellar, no matter what he tells you.”

“The cellar?” Merile wonders aloud even as Mufu shrinks down on her hind legs and growls. “Why would I ever want to go to the cellar? Elise says it’s dark there, and her clothes smelled of moldy onions for days afterwards.”

I don’t know how Merile doesn’t see it. Hear it. Olesia’s words are a warning. Not that she should have needed to tell us not to trust Captain Ansalov. Though he smiles when he addresses us, his shadow is spiteful and hungry. I would never trust anyone with a shadow like that!

“Merile…” It’s Sibilia who speaks as she strolls to our sister, and at that moment I’m glad that I’m still watching the door, at the other side of the room. I don’t remember her being as tall as she now is, but with her shoulders pulled back and her back very straight, she resembles Celestia more than I’ve noticed before. “What are you talking about? And to whom?”

Merile spins around, and Mufu spins with her. Her brown cheeks redden. She’s spoken out of turn! Can she possibly come up with a story that doesn’t reveal to our sister that we see ghosts! For if she can’t, I don’t know what to do! With the Poet arriving, but then with Captain Ansalov and his soldiers arriving, too, too much has happened already today without Sibilia getting mad at us!

“No one. I’m talking to no one. No, I’m thinking aloud. That’s it. I’m thinking aloud.”

Sibilia pats Merile on top of her head, sending her curly black hair bouncing. But she stares past her into the mirror. No, somehow beyond, as if… My sister is powerful in a way very familiar, but which I don’t really understand. And yet, her shadow is fraying around the tiny pinprick holes scattered across its length.

“Irina, Olesia, reveal yourself to me. I know you are here.” Sibilia pauses. Her lips press together as if she were thinking hard. “Or there, if that’s what you prefer.”

I bite my fist then, though it hurts quite a lot. Guilt isn’t a nice thing to feel. And neither is it nice to be caught red-handed in… not lying, but holding back things from my sisters. How did Sibilia find out about the ghosts?

Irina merely sighs. “Well, this was bound to happen eventually. What do you think, Olesia, should we? She is not the oldest, after all.”

My heart pounds heavy as I wait for Olesia to make up her mind. I understand that the order of birth is very important for Daughters of the Moon, but Irina and Olesia keep on bringing it up even when it doesn’t matter. It’s over a month since the last sacred ceremony and almost two until the next one.

“I shall have to consider this carefully,” Olesia replies. Oh, it would be so much easier if she just agreed. But if she doesn’t…

It will all be so very embarrassing. Sibilia will want to know why Merile and I didn’t tell her of the ghosts earlier. And what will we do if she then speaks with Celestia and Elise? They’d be so very disappointed in me and Merile. I know it for sure!

“We might as well,” Olesia says, and the ghosts waft together to hover behind Sibilia.

They reveal themselves exactly at the same moment. I imagine how they must look to my sister. Two elderly ladies in white, with proud, pale faces and paler hair gathered atop their heads. Faded, but strong at the same time.

“Thank you,” Sibilia says, not in the least bit spooked!

Irina and Olesia glance at each other, brows arched. No doubt they expected my sister to gasp upon finding them craning behind her, seeing this in the reflection, but not with her own eyes. But our older sister looks smug instead.

She says, “Now, you can move through the walls, can you not?”

“Of course we can.” Irina cants her chin up. Olesia nods curtly as if the very question were silly to begin with.

“Well, I, for one, would like to know exactly what’s happening in the dining room.”

“Yes! Me, too!” Merile echoes Sibilia, though the two of them never agree on anything.

I’m not sure if I really want to know. Adult things are adult things for a reason. Celestia and Elise will share everything we should know with us as soon as they return. I rub my fist, the white toothmarks there. Come to think of it, maybe Merile and the ghosts are somewhat right. Maybe our older sisters don’t exactly keep secrets from us, but maybe they don’t tell us everything either.

We’re kind of guilty of the same thing.

Irina and Olesia glance at each other. Irina flickers, and her expression is one of fear. Olesia’s shape, on the other hand, hardens. “And what would you be willing to give in exchange?”

When Sibilia speaks, her braided red hair glows. She’s more than herself today. Does that sort of thing come with age? “My word as a Daughter of the Moon that I won’t mention your presence to Celestia and Elise.”

Which is a very curious thing to promise. Merile and I kept the ghosts’ presence secret because we decided to do so. But Sibilia’s suggestion makes it seem as if the ghosts don’t want Celestia and Elise to know about them. I’ll need to think about this later when all is not so confusing.

“Deal.” Olesia reaches a ghostly hand toward Sibilia. My sister grabs it without hesitation. If she feels anything at all, she doesn’t say a word. “Irina will speak in my place.”

An eyeblink later Olesia is gone. Irina drifts to the mirror, to speak in her sister’s place. Sibilia waves curtly at me and, thus summoned, I hurry to join my sisters with Rafa. Mufu welcomes us with nervous tail-wagging. Merile nudges her companion with her shin. “Hush, silly.”

“In the skirmish of Skatanor, fought under the Crescent-lit snowfields that come summer will grow a plentiful harvest of rye, the Equal People, armed with scythes and pitchforks, triumphed against the dispirited, ill-prepared Enemy, killing eleven hundred foes and bringing their callous commander, Captain Orinov, to justice. He will be judged in a fair trial, and when found guilty of breaking the laws degreed by the Moon himself, he shall face the choice between the shameful death of a traitor or donating his soul to remedy the harm he has caused when he decided to side against our good, devoted people.”

“Who’s saying this?” Sibilia squints at the mirror, one thick eyebrow higher than the other. I’m confused, too. What sort of news is this? Why was Papa’s name mentioned when there’s no Crescent Empress to speak his will?

Irina lifts both hands up as if she were holding a scroll. Her knuckles are bony and white. “The man in the fancy red coat.”

“The Poet?” Sibilia muses at the same time as Merile chimes, “My seed.”

“It doesn’t sound like him,” Sibilia comments.

Merile licks her lips as if she’s not sure whether she could and should agree with Sibilia again. Mufu stares expectantly up at her, though she must know this is no time for treats. “It really doesn’t. Not his. The words aren’t his, even if they come out of his mouth.”

But it’s not even that which bothers me the most. It’s the thing the Poet said about choosing between… I kneel down to pet Rafa. I really don’t want to think about it, but I don’t think that’s an option.

Irina clears her throat and glances at us from over the scroll that doesn’t really exist. “Do you want to hear more? The list is very long. Olesia says he has been reading it ever since they retreated into the dining room.”

I glance at Merile, then at Sibilia. Merile bends to pick Mufu up. She’s confused by the way her seed speaks. I’m terrified by what I have heard.

“Yes,” Sibilia says. “Do go on, and leave out nothing.”

Irina closes her eyes and speaks of what her sister sees. “The resourceful people of the fine town of Opitap ambushed the convoy of the greedy Count Sukisov, who foolishly attempted to smuggle gunpowder and ammunition to the Enemy to support their ridiculous pretense of a resistance.”

I don’t remember hearing Count Sukisov’s name before, but… I realize it then, the Enemy must be the people supporting Celestia. How can those fighting for the empress-to-be be called that?

“After inflicting heavy casualties on the opposing side, the Equal People escorted the justly dispirited traitor to the Winter City, where he received a fair trial. He was sentenced to pay his soul for the crimes committed against the Crescent Empire.”

Merile shakes her head slowly. She cradles Mufu against her chest, chin pressed against her companion’s silvery forehead. “No…”

I don’t know what she means, and I can’t think of it now. For a memory comes to me, and it’s a dark, frightening one. Last summer, Merile and I saw the gagargi’s engineer feed an amber bead to the Great Thinking Machine. Since then, I’ve been certain the gagargi wants my soul. My sisters say I’m just imagining it, but having heard the Poet’s words…

“So, regardless of what you do,” Sibilia says, tapping her fingers against her thigh, “you’ll be fed to the Great Thinking Machine?”

My mouth goes so dry that when I whimper I don’t make a sound. Rafa rises on her hind legs to lean against me. It was true all along then. I wasn’t imagining. I really wasn’t imagining it.

“Alina?” And then Sibilia is there, squeezing my shoulder. Rafa whispers warm air in my ear, but I can’t make out what she might want to tell me. “I didn’t mean to… It’s all right, my little Alina. It’s all right.”

I hug Rafa. How can it be all right? If anything we’ve heard today is true, people are dying in our name, not one or two, but many, and the gagargi is stealing their souls. And yet, the way the Poet speaks, how Irina conveys this to Olesia makes it sound as if Merile’s seed believes he’s delivering good news. It simply doesn’t make sense.

“Is he really the only one speaking?” Merile asks.

Irina pushes the scroll aside. “Yes.” Then her face—or is it only her expression and pose?—changes. Any distraction, even an unsettling one, is a welcome relief from the ghastly news.

She listens with her head held high, expression unflinching. I recognize Celestia straightaway.

She looks sickened, confused, and yet so very beautiful. That can only be Elise.

She drifts to hover very close to where Elise was, as if to protect her. This must be Captain Janlav.

And then she smiles as if indeed the news were good, and the most terrible thing is that this smile reaches her eyes. The sight of Captain Ansalov, her as him, scares me. If Sibilia and Merile and Rafa and Mufu weren’t there, right next to me, I’d flee into my room, under the blankets, never to get up again.

“Perhaps we go on with the rest of the tidings?” Sibilia suggests, patting my shoulder once more, almost apologetically.

“Perhaps we do.” Irina resumes her own face, and I’m happy she does so. I hadn’t realized the ghosts could appear as other people. Maybe I don’t really know everything about them. “It was by no means a pleasant experience for me either.”

I brace myself for more bad things to come. But with Sibilia and Merile by my side, with Rafa nuzzling my palms, I will be safe. I’m safe, and as a Daughter of the Moon, I must honor the ones who lost their lives fighting for us. That’s what Celestia would do.

“In the battle of Fornavav, where the enemy blood turned the snow to scarlet, the vigorous soldiers of the Equal People’s army defeated the ruthless General Monzanov, who has been known to butcher innocent women and children in his mindless pursuit to support the losing side. The gallant, untiring efforts of our men yielded expected results. He was captured alive, to bring him to justice and to bring justice to those who have fallen under his cruel sword. But after a dastardly escape attempt, for the Equal People’s absolute victory frightened his cowardly soul, a well-aimed bullet to his heart put an end to his deceitful life.”

“Huh.” Sibilia breathes deep. She pulls her arm from around me and, again, starts pacing the length of the room. With her head bent down, she bumps into the divan. She looks around, startled to find herself already by the fireplace. “None of that can possibly be right. Celestia’s seed was the finest, most righteous man this empire has seen! We know what happened to him!”

Do we? Yes, I guess we do. Celestia met with her seed that day when the train halted and we got to walk around the station. She’d planned that we’d go with him. But something went wrong, and we had to board the train again, with him remaining behind.

Irina motions Sibilia to return before the mirror. My sister does so. I hug Rafa, trying not to look at my sister’s shadow. I must be imagining the holes. Though I’m not. This day is full of foul things.

“We know,” Irina says. “None of it is right or true. Dear daughters, this is propaganda.”

“Propaganda?” Merile’s voice is muffled because she speaks with her lips brushing against Mufu’s gray forehead. I’ve never heard this word before either, but I don’t like the sound of it.

“People believe what they’re told to believe.” Sibilia grimaces as if the words left a bad taste in her mouth. “All this talk about redeeming crimes by… The gagargi is feeding our supporters to the Great Thinking Machine. And now his supporters repeat his twisted words again and again, making people accept that it’s perfectly fine to steal a man’s soul.”

Papa can’t approve of that, but maybe the gagargi has never respected our father’s wishes. Maybe Sibilia didn’t get it right. Though I’m sure she did. I’ve seen the machine. I’ve felt its hunger. And now I know that I’m not safe in this house. The gagargi wants my soul and will come to claim it any day now.

But there must be something me and my sisters can do. Anything. I ask, “If none of it is true, why doesn’t Celestia or Elise say something?”

“What could they say to make a difference?” Irina asks in return. Sibilia shakes her head, face reddening as if she had something else stinging her tongue, but knows better than to say it aloud. Merile seeks comfort from Mufu. “This is not the first house where Poet Granizol has read this scroll. He is the voice of the gagargi. And I think you have heard enough for now.”

I think I’ve heard too much already. Rafa must sense that I’m feeling unease. She nibbles my fingers, gently so that her teeth don’t hurt me.

“Why.” Merile’s eyes brim with tears. “Why would my seed side with the gagargi? My seed is good. The gagargi is evil!”

Olesia appears alongside Irina. She looks… maybe slightly shaken. It’s difficult to tell when they’re so pale and see-through to begin with. “We all do what we must to survive.”

“But still!” Merile insists, swallows hard. “Still!”

Irina reaches out to wipe a tear from my sister’s cheek. Her finger passes through the teardrop, but Merile doesn’t notice this. “You should try and forget him.”

“You will not see him again,” Olesia adds.